


A Very Peculiar Feeling

by ineffablefool



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (I guess there's actually three and the third is 'Aziraphale is fat and also beautiful', (I'm p sure the pining and angst are light?), (not a plot point but i try to work in those loving descriptors so you don't forget), (only one of them says the word but they both know what they mean), Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Kiss, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, No Sex, No Smut, Other, Pining, Post-Canon, Romance, but i covered that in the tags already), the two fundamental truths of the Soft Zone(TM)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 07:23:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20578694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablefool/pseuds/ineffablefool
Summary: There was a shriek of tires out on the street, and Aziraphale frowned.  Honestly, people these days.  Disturbing the neighborhood at this hour, with no regard for —Oh!The internal rant was forgotten, along with the frown.  That tire squeal might not have been particularly distinctive, but his more ethereal senses did pick up something which was.  A certain presence, smelling of darkness and tasting of warmth and sounding of dry spice, was welling up strong now, so that Aziraphale was already hurrying to the door as it opened.(Aziraphale can sense love.  He can sense something from Crowley, too, but he's quite sure it'snotlove.  Goodness, it is awfully strong these days, though, isn't it?)





	A Very Peculiar Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the Soft Zone(TM)! I usually skim over the fact that Aziraphale can canonically sense love, but today's offering uses it as a plot point. I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> I'm writing for the TV characterization, but I've decided that my written Aziraphale's body is shaped like how Tumblr user speremint draws him (([1](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186342035100/i-did-this-instead-of-my-hw-ya-girl-is-gonna)) ([2 from her Reversed Omens AU](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186574829700/finally-finally-done-making-these-refs-my)) ([dotstronaut also draws a gorgeous Aziraphale with a lovely round face](https://dotstronaut.tumblr.com/post/186740069618/no-really-i-dont-think-you-all-understand-how))), because I much prefer to imagine that as I work. Please also imagine that as you read!

There was a shriek of tires out on the street, and Aziraphale frowned, pausing in his efforts to reorganize the poetry section. Honestly, people these days. Disturbing the neighborhood at this hour, with no regard for —

_Oh!_

The internal rant was forgotten, along with the frown. That tire squeal might not have been particularly distinctive, but his more ethereal senses did pick up something which was. A certain presence, smelling of darkness and tasting of warmth and sounding of dry spice, was welling up strong now, so that Aziraphale was already hurrying to the door as it opened.

“Crowley!”

“Angel! How’ve y’been?”

Aziraphale beamed, hardly noticing when Crowley let the door slam shut with a window-rattling bang. “Quite well! I wasn’t expecting you to stop by this evening, though. Didn’t you have some sort of demonic business elsewhere?”

“Wasn’t demonic.” Crowley jammed his hands into his pockets. “Sorry, should I go? Guess I should have called before I stopped by.”

His tone was light enough, but there was a roiling of the sort of... oh, demonic aura, Aziraphale supposed, which clung to him. It had always been there, something sensed in much the same way that Aziraphale could sense divine Grace, or earthly love. Hard to feel out at times, although it seemed to him that it had grown stronger over the millennia. Perhaps it was a sign of some sort of infernal growth of power. Then again, it could have just been that Aziraphale had gotten more attuned to it — he did know that he’d never been able to pick it up from any of the other demons he’d ever had the misfortune to encounter. And it had only surged in apparent strength after the failed apocalypse, hence why it could now precede Crowley into a room.

But it throbbed now with something that belied Crowley’s apparent ease, and Aziraphale would simply not stand for _that_. The fact that he himself had been missing Crowley, had selfishly wished that they could spend even more time together than they already had been lately, barely entered into it at all.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I insist you join me in the back room — I’ve got a newly-acquired Tempranillo which has both our names on it.”

It had been the right answer. Crowley smirked, one eyebrow raised, but his aura lost that plaintive throb. It washed over Aziraphale like a wave of light he couldn’t quite see, cast by some alien star he expected to never quite comprehend.

It was rather pleasant, honestly. Which seemed an odd way to think about a demon’s essence.

Aziraphale supposed it came from being secretly in love with this particular demon.

He waved Crowley ahead of him, and Crowley slunk across the shop with his same old hip-swinging walk, as if there was anyone here he’d want to tempt.

Crowley laid himself out on the couch as Aziraphale busied himself with the wine. “Now, I’m not _quite_ sure about this vintage,” he cautioned, “since I’ve encountered somewhat mixed reviews. But I was feeling a bit adventurous, thought I’d try something new, and —” He turned around, glass in each hand, and paused. “Crowley?”

The sunglasses had been tossed onto a nearby surface, which had been another thing that had gotten more prevalent after the apocalypse, much to Aziraphale’s delight; although just now, the expression thus revealed was oddly inscrutable. Crowley sat in a posture which was strangely upright for him, hands in his jacket pockets rather than flung every-which-way over the couch. His yellow eyes seemed to shuttle up and down Aziraphale’s broad figure, just briefly, before finally locking gazes with him.

The demonic aura whispered soundlessly. Crowley smiled, a little. “You, Aziraphale? Adventurous? I’ve heard everything now.”

“Hmph,” Aziraphale replied, handing him a glass. “Next time, _you_ can supply the wine, then.”

“Cheapest plonk I can find.”

Aziraphale rewarded that with another “Hmph.”

They sat across from each other for a few moments, Aziraphale in his accustomed chair, Crowley still posed halfway-normally on the couch. Made conversation about the wine (decent, but better after Crowley did something to it), about their days (or about Aziraphale’s, anyway; Crowley was still being secretive about his earlier “business”).

Aziraphale had hoped, a little, that things would have changed, after everything. Oh, not that they hadn’t — they were very good, now, very very good, without the constant pressure from Above and Below. He and Crowley were free to do as they wished, to pursue their friendship openly, without fear. They spent more time together than they ever had before. Crowley took off those horrid sunglasses, sharing his gorgeous snake’s eyes with Aziraphale, almost every time they were alone. There was even that sudden strength to Crowley’s aura — new these last few weeks, and suggesting that Crowley had perhaps come into his own in some way Aziraphale didn’t understand.

So much _had_ changed, yes, and all of it for the better. But Aziraphale had still hoped for more.

_I’d hoped you might love me. Now that you can._

It was a curse, being able to sense love. It meant he knew without doubt that his own feelings were not returned. Crowley cared for him, obviously. Considered them the best of friends. And Aziraphale treasured that friendship, would do anything to protect it — even if that meant never seeking anything more.

Because Crowley did not love him. Not even now, when they were finally both free.

_Ah well. I suppose I shouldn’t have ever thought you would. Not me._

Aziraphale startled, slightly, as a hand fell on his shoulder.

“Oh!”

He had plainly been woolgathering, because Crowley was no longer on the couch; he was, instead, leaning over Aziraphale’s chair. His hand was gentle on Aziraphale’s arm, no sign of annoyance in his lovely eyes, even though there really should have been.

“Aziraphale? Everything okay?”

“Of course, yes. Goodness, how rude of me.” He put on his best smile, wanting to banish that worried note from Crowley’s voice. “I apologize. I should be paying more attention when I have a guest.”

The hand on his shoulder dropped away. “Maybe I _should_ go,” Crowley mumbled. He grabbed up his sunglasses, took a few hesitant steps toward the door before turning back. “Seems like tonight maybe isn’t... um.”

Aziraphale only stared for a moment, but when Crowley started toward the front door again, he fumbled out of his chair so quickly that he nearly knocked over his wine. “Crowley, wait!”

Crowley did so. His hands went into his pockets again, his posture hunched, not at all his usual loose slouch. His demonic essence tightened too, less obvious to Aziraphale’s senses than before. Constrained, somehow. Like it was trying to hide itself.

“I...” Crowley cleared his throat, not turning to face Aziraphale. “Look, I’m sorry. Feels like maybe you wanted an evening alone with your books, and here I am being all...” He waved a hand vaguely. “Yeah.”

_The sound of warmth. Feel of cinnamon. Taste of smoke. Why would you ever want to hide what you are, my dearest?_

Aziraphale took a step closer, hands twisting against the curve of his belly. “My dea —” he choked off the word on its first syllable, mortified that it had slipped from his thoughts to his tongue — “My dear _fellow_, I _wanted_ to see you today. I... I would happily spend time with you every day, given the chance.” Then, trying for humor: “Me and my books, you know. It’s not like I get out much.”

The essence, or aura, or whatever it was, coiled around them, not-seen and not-felt but sensed, _present_, all the same. Crowley’s voice was oddly hoarse when he responded. “I should’ve planned this better. Or at all, really, honestly I didn’t think ahead at all. Just figured I’d show up and...”

“Crowley?” Aziraphale risked another step, wishing he could see Crowley’s face. Wishing for anything to quiet the dread building in the pit of his stomach.

“Today I was just going to think, yeah? About how to say — well. It would have to be perfect, wouldn’t it? After so long, for it not to be perfect. Bloody awful. _Tacky_.”

“Erm...”

“And then I thought, well, maybe I just needed a little inspiration. Little reminder of what everything’s been for all this time. Maybe I’d figure it out then.” Crowley looked back over his shoulder, just for a moment, and the expression in his eyes sent Aziraphale stumbling almost close enough to touch him.

“Crowley —”

“And I don’t know why I thought I _could_ make it perfect, you know, because I’m not. I’m nowhere near, comes with the whole ‘demon’ thing, so how could I ever offer you anything good enough to be worth you, that’s the real question here, isn’t it.”

Aziraphale felt his throat close against any possible response.

Crowley stiffened. “Wait, I didn’t...”

_Whatever he’s getting at, it cannot possibly be that. It must be something else. Because..._

“Oh, angel,” Crowley groaned. “That’s not how I was supposed to tell you.”

Aziraphale took a breath. “Will you look at me, Crowley?”

“Every day for the rest of time,” Crowley said, turning to face him. “If I can.”

_It cannot **possibly** be that. Because — _

Crowley pulled his hands out of his pockets to bury them in his own hair. “You see, though? That was exactly what I was talking about! Bollocksed it all up. No romance from me, no. You just find out in a big... big old word soup.”

“I don’t understand.” Aziraphale cast his senses outward, again, trying to sense love coming from Crowley, and there just wasn’t any. At all. But everything he was saying, or circling around saying... the look on his face, now, as he stared at Aziraphale, eyes yellow and wild...

All there was to find with his ethereal senses was that wave of _Crowley_ which had lingered around him since almost the first instant they had met.

_Oh._

And which had only grown stronger over the millennia.

_Oh dear._

And which, in the weeks of their freedom since the end of the world, had in fact grown so strong that Aziraphale could tell when Crowley was near just by its presence.

_Oh, my dear._

His face was very warm, all of a sudden, and it was hard to keep his lip from quivering. Which was strange. Was he about to cry? Goodness, what reason was there to cry?

“Oh, my dearest,” he said, and held his hands out. “I didn’t realize. I didn’t realize you did.”

There was an instant, a fraction of a second of hesitation on Crowley’s part, and then he flung himself forward. He caught Aziraphale’s hands in a grip almost tight enough to be painful.

“Do _you_?” he rasped, not moving, now; staying absolutely still. “Tell me you do. Please tell me you do.”

The feeling, the sense that Aziraphale had always assumed was simply Crowley’s own essence, was everywhere now, an endless surging wave of joyful warmth which was very, very clear in its nature, and he wondered how he could have ever mistaken it for anything else.

_I’ve been such a fool._

“_Anthony J_ Crowley,” Aziraphale replied, unable to resist a bit of playfulness, unable to fight the huge smile rising to his face, “or whatever you care to call yourself tomorrow, or a thousand years from now, or a million.”

Crowley made a tiny noise in his throat.

“I am so very much in love with you that if I cannot kiss you now, I’m not sure what I’ll do.”

“You.” Crowley swallowed. “Okay.”

Crowley’s eyes flickered over him, not for the first time that evening. They took him in, head to foot, cataloguing every inch. This time, though, there was an expression blooming on his face which seemed very close to awe.

“Angel.” Crowley tugged lightly on his hands. Bringing them closer together. “My angel.”

“Yes, my love?”

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut at that, and when he opened them again, they were pure yellow, the scleras vanished. “I... I’m going to hold you now. Okay?”

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale said. “That would be lovely.”

Crowley released his grip. A moment later, Aziraphale could feel hands settling against him, curving around the sides of his middle, sinking slightly into the widest part of him —

“So soft,” Crowley muttered, pulling Aziraphale even closer. His hands paused for a moment, then wrapped all the away around to Aziraphale’s back. “I never dreamed how soft.”

Aziraphale blinked. “You’ve dreamed of my —”

“I’ve dreamed of _you_. Of this.” Crowley pressed them together, chest against chest, flat belly against round one. “Of doing this.”

Crowley leaned down and kissed him.

Aziraphale had thought he would be able to process this experience. Crowley’s love — obvious now that he recognized it, dear Lord how had he ever missed it? — surrounded him in a tawny haze, a light he couldn’t see yet which shone bright enough to blind, hot enough to kill, except for the fact that it was _Crowley’s love_ and could never harm him. Added to that was the sensation of Crowley’s hands on him, _cherishing_ him. Drawing him in so close that he could feel Crowley’s heartbeat echoing his own. All of which was wonderful, it really was, so joyous that it hurt, a deep but sweet aching in his chest...

Then Crowley’s lips touched his.

Those lips were firm, at first, gently applying pressure to his own, lying still against his closed mouth. Then Crowley swayed, and the lips parted to allow a moan to escape. It was a wild sound, broken and lost, and Aziraphale’s own jaw dropped slightly at it, which opened his mouth just a little; and then Crowley’s lips were softening against his, no longer firm but yielding, _yearning_, and Aziraphale stopped being able to process anything at all except the feel of Crowley’s mouth. The taste of it. Nothing, absolutely nothing else existed except that kiss. Not even his books.

Eventually it stopped, of course. But Crowley’s love still sang around them.

Aziraphale rested his head against Crowley’s shoulder. “Do you know, dearest, that I’m a fool?”

“Is it because you unironically use the phrase ‘wiggle-on’?”

“Wh — no!”

Crowley rubbed his hands slowly against Aziraphale’s back. “Or because you haven’t listened to a single song that came out after about 1897 unless it’s part of one of those bloody musicals?”

“Eighteen—? I really don’t see —”

“Or because you’re the only being on Earth willing to get discorporated for crepes.” He nuzzled against Aziraphale’s hair. “_Crepes_, angel.”

Aziraphale pouted. “That was a very long time ago. ...and they were very good crepes.”

“That makes it okay, then.”

Aziraphale let his eyes drift closed.

“Mnuh,” Crowley said after a while. “Aziraphale?”

“Yes, dearest?”

Warm smoky darkness wrapped intangibly around Aziraphale, so much love and so strong that he had to pull away from his ethereal senses a little so he could concentrate on Crowley’s response.

“What, uh. What do we do now?”

“Hmm.” Aziraphale leaned back, just enough to look up at Crowley’s face. “I should very much like for you to take me to dinner, actually.”

Crowley gave him a look that was probably intended to be flippant, although his eyes were still a bit too soft for it to really work. “We’ve gone to dinner loads of times.”

“Oh, we have, certainly. As friends.”

Aziraphale could actually pinpoint the moment that Crowley understood his meaning. The snake eyes narrowed, a little, considering; then they widened; then they squeezed closed, already brimming over, and Crowley pulled him closer again, face buried in the cloud of his hair.

“Dinner. Yes. Okay, yes.” Crowley cleared his throat. “Yes.”

Held within Crowley’s arms, within his love, Aziraphale barely even noticed his own eyes growing damp. “The Ritz?”

“Table’s already ready for us.” A lingering kiss against Aziraphale’s curls. “Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you were thinking of leaving a comment, please know that I treasure every single one, whether it's a single emoticon, a copy-pasted line, a keysmash, an entire novel of feelings, or whatever. (Even after a story's been online for a while and already has comments! I like to know that my babies are still loved!) I've literally cried a few times reading some of the lovely things people have said in comments, and they really are fuel for my soft little heart -- but never, ever required, so please don't feel pressured. Just know that if you're ever questioning whether it would bother or annoy me for you to comment or otherwise reach out, _no oh goodness no it will never bother me it will absolutely do the opposite of that_.
> 
> If you want to say hi on Tumblr, I'm [ineffablefool](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com) there, too. The last sentence of the previous paragraph applies here as well. 
> 
> I would never actively request art from anyone I wasn't paying, but if you, the human reading this, were to decide it was worth your time to create fanart based on any of my stories, I would be incredibly honored ([and would love to enshrine it forever on my Tumblr](https://ineffablefool.tumblr.com/tagged/ineffablefool-gets-fanart-from-lovely-people))! I have only one requirement: please don't draw Aziraphale any thinner than the size I headcanon (I need both my soft cuddly daydreams, and my positive fat representation). Here are some examples of what that sort of minimum body size/shape might look like: ([speremint 1](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186342035100/i-did-this-instead-of-my-hw-ya-girl-is-gonna)) ([speremint 2 from her Reversed Omens AU](https://speremint.tumblr.com/post/186574829700/finally-finally-done-making-these-refs-my)) ([dotstronaut](https://dotstronaut.tumblr.com/post/186740069618/no-really-i-dont-think-you-all-understand-how)) Otherwise, the characters can look however you like!
> 
> (If you say something nice about one of my stories and I recognize you as an artist who does commissions, there is a chance I will ask to give you an amount of money of your choosing to draw your favorite bit of the story you complimented. Just a little warning.) 
> 
> I hope you're having a fantastic day.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Podfic: A Very Peculiar Feeling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21398875) by [Celilinia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celilinia/pseuds/Celilinia)


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